


Comfortable

by seaquestions



Series: niko's deadceptor fics [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Cyberverse
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, descriptions of mild robogore, idiot boys still cant communicate but theyre getting better!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaquestions/pseuds/seaquestions
Summary: Due to what it takes to fix his optics, Perceptor finds himself without a face. Dead End helps.Also, intimacy.
Relationships: Dead End/Perceptor (Transformers)
Series: niko's deadceptor fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668763
Comments: 14
Kudos: 109





	Comfortable

Healing optics took a lot of work, Ratchet said. Perceptor's optic nerves were frayed and damaged and left to rot for far too long. Neglect left his eye sockets without proper maintenance and with his constant appointment-dodging, Perceptor had left his sight to the hands of fate.

The hands of fate, however, belonged to Dead End, who finally dragged him to the hospital, one fine Iaconian day.

They had to overhaul his entire face. The damage wasn't just located in the optics; the raw metal of his protoform was damaged, and there were leftover injuries from the Quintesson invasion that spread into his inner workings through the gaping hole in his head. Also, there was damage that came from spilled engex. Most likely an angry, drunk, customer. Ratchet had to scrape off the remains of his busted viewfinder. So much for that little upgrade.

The actual repairs weren't to be done for a deca-cycle. They had to remake the face first, and proto-material wasn't the easiest or cheapest to synthesise. So it left Perceptor with a horrifying skinless, eyeless face.

Well. He could still see through his scope. So that was the same.

His face certainly felt odd. Very bare. He could feel the wind weave through the holes above his jaw. Certain mechs left that part open on purpose. He once had a colleague, this jet, who had cables at the sides of his mouth, lining the bottom of the cheekholes. It was an interesting mod, and it got him thinking of his new face.

Would it be worth it to add mods? He was already planning on making a new, more robust viewfinder; this time going over his optic instead of replacing it. Perceptor had never cared about how he looked.

But he was curious about how it'd _feel_. And how it would feel for others.

Dead End held his hand as they walked back to their apartment. It's been some time since their “confrontation”, and the mech has become a bit more proactive in terms of displays of affection. Perceptor never cared much for PDA, and valued private intimacy much more. Dead End felt similarly, but it was always clear to Perceptor how much the mech wanted to be close to him in public as well. Maybe now that he felt comfortable holding hands, he'd stop hoverhanding Perceptor's waist and just go for it.

But they had talked about things. And Perceptor had learned that Dead End needed both direct confirmation and a somewhat gradual transition. Perceptor would just need to be patient, and he was fine with that. He just wished…

Hm. Perhaps he wasn't as unconcerned with PDA as he thought.

“Hey,” Dead End spoke up, letting go of his hand, “Stop touching your face.”

Oh. Perceptor hadn't realised he was picking at his facial wires. He put his hand down. His bare structure itched.

“I still have my old facemask at home,” Dead End said, “I can lend it to you, I suppose. If it fits, anyway.”

Perceptor's spark warmed by about 10%. It was nice to know that Dead End considered the place they lived his home.

“I can tell you're smiling by the way.”

“How? I have no lips.”

“Eh. You do that thing with your shoulders when you smile, and your head tilts a bit. You know.”

Perceptor proceeded to do those things yet again. He dared to lean against his partner's side, and was rewarded with a slightly hesitant hand on the small of his back. It was warm, and placed itself more confidently when he wiggled some more.

If people were looking strangely at the two of them walking by, he didn't care to notice.

———

The trip back home was uneventful, and Dead End had let go of him when they arrived at their apartment to go looking for his old mask. Perceptor sat on the couch and waited. He resisted the urge to poke at his empty sockets. They had been sanded down and removed of all the little bits of wire that used to be there, leaving them even emptier than they were before. He wondered what it'd feel like to have regular optics again. He also wondered if they'd be the same colour.

Iacon General Hospital most certainly carried blue, but would they be the same shade? He wondered what other colours they had. Red, gold, purple…

He just realised, just now, that he had no idea what colour Dead End's optics were.

Pulling up old memory files that Dead End had shared with him in moments of exchange, he was usually wearing that purple visor and golden battlemask, his true optic colour concealed. It would be simple to just assume that his optics were also purple, but Soundwave's optics were gold, as opposed to his red visor, so.

He just didn't know.

Dead End came back with the visor and mask combo and sat down next to him. Perceptor turned to face him.

“So, uh, I got these custom fitted to me at some point, so,” he rambled as he pulled Perceptor closer, “I _think_ the mask will fit, but I'm not sure about the visor.”

“Just put them on me,” Perceptor said.

“Right.”

Dead End gently placed the golden mask over Perceptor's bare face, folding it inwards a little bit to accommodate for the former scientist's slimmer structure, and then flicking the tiny switch under one of the sides to active the magnets, locking it in place.

Dead End snorted.

“Why?” Perceptor said, “Do I look silly?”

“Yellow's not your colour.”

Oh. Speaking of colour. Under the settings of his scope, Perceptor couldn't see colour, and it left him wanting. He supposed that it was the thing about getting new optics that he was actually excited for. And now, with Dead End's face so close to him, he wanted even more.

“What…” he trailed off.

“Hm?” Dead End said, looking up from his attempts to adjust the visor.

“What colour are your optics?”

“You don't know?”

“Well, my scope only interprets values of light, so. To me, your optics are simply bright white. What are they truly?”

Dead End laughed.

“What's so funny?” Perceptor said, curious. He didn't often hear Dead End laugh so boisterously.

“Well, ah,” the other mech said, “You're on the money there.”

“Hm?”

“My optics are white,” Dead End said, reaching towards his face with the visor.

“…Oh.”

The visor clicked in place, somewhat awkwardly. There was quite a bit of extra glass on the sides of his head where the visor would fit neatly into the slats on Dead End's helm. Perceptor had no such things.

“Looks kinda goofy, but just so you don't poke at anything,” Dead End said, smiling.

If Perceptor could purse his lips, he would. “I feel like a cybercat with a cone on its neck.”

Dead End's helm fins rose up and down with barely contained amusement.

If anyone was the cybercat, it was him.

Dead End lounged on the couch. “You wanna finish that movie we fell asleep during last night, or?” he asked, patting his chest.

“Hm.” Perceptor laid down on top of him, “Wasn't a very good movie, was it?”

“Nah. Let's just see what's on.”

At this point, Dead End was mostly comfortable being affectionate behind closed doors. This was routine now.

Perceptor had to admit to himself. Though he often said that he didn't care either way, he enjoyed Dead End's touch. The mech had a surprisingly soft touch. Gentle hands made their way to his hips, rubbing slow circles into points of tension almost subconsciously, and Perceptor melted.

He wished he could kiss him.

It's funny, Perceptor realised, that he had a whole snit about Dead End not being able to go after what he wanted, but in truth, he wasn't any better. Perceptor, too, spent far too long acting coy and not being direct, in hopes that he didn't have to be the one to make a move. He still didn't initiate very often. Sure, he'd give Dead End a _look_ , something to signal him to come over and give him affection, but…

It had to be _now_ , _now_ that Dead End was absorbed in the shitty logistics of reality TV, _now_ that he was wearing a mask and visor he couldn't take off, it had to be _now_ that all Perceptor wanted to do was lean up and kiss the living daylights out of his boyfriend.

He would have to settle for touch, he supposed.

So, Perceptor reached up and lightly touched Dead End's cute helm fins. They flicked upwards, adorably.

“Hrm?”

Perceptor wiggled in Dead End's arms and nuzzled the side of his face.

“Hey,” Dead End said, chuckling, “What is this?”

Perceptor wiggled some more.

“Use your words. That's what you keep telling _me_ , isn't it? I genuinely have no idea what you're trying to communicate here.”

Fine, fine.

“…”

Hrgh.

“I want you.”

“Want me to what?”

Oh, now he was just _playing_. That was fine. Perceptor was fine with that.

The former scientist rose up onto his knees and straddled Dead End.

“Want you to _fuck_ me.”

Said mech's hands were still petting the plating on his hips. Perceptor plucked them off and redirected them towards his panel. No, not the one between his legs. The one on his abdomen.

“Oh,” Dead End breathed out.

With an ex-vent, Perceptor opened up his data interface panel and guided Dead End's servos to pop open the cap of the housing to one of his cables, and then dragging it out, unspooling it inch by inch. Dead End pinched it, playfully.

He had that confidence now, did he?

Not so much when Perceptor reached down and popped Dead End's panel open manually with a flick of his wrist. The mech below him gasped as he connected his jack to the port.

The sensation of hardlining for pleasure was always an odd thing. Now that organic-inspired interfacing hardware was popular and commonplace, exchanges like these became rarer. It was different, so much different from the immediate heat and pleasure that came from physically interfacing. It was like someone was playing with your senses without even touching you.

Perceptor always had a somewhat weak EM field. His scope and viewfinder were made to compensate for it. But there was no need for fields here, in their minds.

And here they played their little game.

Perceptor would break through Dead End's firewalls flawlessly, with surgical precision, only for them to come back up again, and again, and again. The constant back and forth was exhilarating, building up more and more force with every consecutive push. Perceptor pulled out another cable and jacked into another one of Dead End's ports, catching him off guard. Dead End jerked, letting Perceptor slip by and enter him, feeling himself be overtaken by the other mech. Perceptor poured his emotions over the line, overwhelming Dead End with a direct injection of, well. Love.

Neither of them have said it out loud yet.

Dead End whimpered, pawing at Perceptor's servos in real life, and unspooled a cable of his own to push into one of Perceptor's ports. There were no longer any need for firewalls. Perceptor let Dead End through, and the two of them were spinning around each other in sync, dipping into each other's processors and feeling everything the other felt.

“More…” 

He didn't know who said it, but he agreed.

Through the haze of the hardline, Perceptor managed to grind their other interface panels together, popping open his own. Dead End quickly followed suit. They grinded mindlessly against each other for what felt like too long, until Perceptor lifted himself up a bit, reached down, aligned Dead End's spike with his valve and let it enter him. The two of them groaned, and the inner workings of his valve protested as he worked the spike deeper. Perceptor had enough presence of mind to write up a command to loosen up his calipers automatically. He was not, however, conscious enough of gravity, and so when the command was obeyed, Perceptor sank down onto Dead End's spike much faster than anticipated, making him yelp.

Dead End's hands gripped his hips even harder. Both of them needed a second to take a breath. All the while, data flowed between their lines, uncaring of whatever state their hardware was in.

Perceptor moved. Dead End gasped.

Soon enough, Perceptor was able to settle into a rhythm, bouncing on Dead End's spike, letting it push against the sensitive nodes inside his valve. He sat down and rolled his hips, creating friction from Dead End's plating against his anterior node, until Dead End finally got a hold of himself and moved his hands to work at the nub himself.

“Hah… Perceptor—Ah!”

Said mech reached down and grabbed the base of Dead End's spike.

“Mmph, ah, you, hah, you'd better not,” he panted, “overload before me…”

Just to make sure, though, Perceptor stopped his movements altogether, making Dead End whine and jerk around in his grip.

“Wh-huh?”

“Hah, you _know_ what I'm doing, Dead End…” he'd grin if he could.

With a scalpel's touch, Perceptor dove into Dead End's processor and held his overload off with a sharp command. Dead End vented in.

“Oh, oh fuck…”

“Mm-hm!” 

And with that, Perceptor went back to riding Dead End's spike, without letting go of the mental grip he had on his partner's overload. He no longer cared about rhythm or tempo. He was just chasing his own release at this point, moving his hips up and down recklessly, forcing Dead End's spike deeper in and letting it pull almost painfully against the nodes lining the back of his valve ring.

Dead End was delirious at this point, his charge was redlining and he felt ready to burst. All he could feel was the way Perceptor's soft mesh welcomed him so forcefully and the mental death grip that Perceptor had on him through the hardline. He felt powerless and out of control in the best way possible and it was, really, because he trusted Perceptor.

And it was sweet, truly, how that was the thought, the little pulse of raw emotion, that pushed Perceptor off the edge.

“Hah—Ooh, Dead End!”

“Pleasepleaseplease…!”

The grip went lax. Dead End's charge burst through, nearly blowing his optics out, as he jerked uncontrollably, pumping transfluid into Perceptor's valve. The dual sensation through the line was almost enough to push him into second overload.

The two of them stayed in place, cycling in air heavily through their vents.

Perceptor lifted his hips up, letting Dead End's depressurising spike pop out of him, along with most of the lubricant and transfluid that came out of their interface.

Perceptor flopped back down on Dead End's chest.

“Oof.”

“Mhm.”

The engines calmed down, the processors cleared up and their plating felt too sticky.

“We should shower,” Dead End muttered.

In his mind, Perceptor knew he'd hate the feeling of drying transfluid, and he knew he'd want to clean himself as soon as possible.

But, still connected through their cables, Dead End knew what he was going to say.

“Five more minutes?”

“…Five more minutes.”

**Author's Note:**

> ive lost my mind. my back hurts. this was Too Much. i just wanted to write a sex scene. thassit. oh god this thing is the longest fic ive written in A While. oh god i hope theyre in character. theyre probably not.
> 
> *shouts into void* AAGH IS THIS EVEN SEXY??? DID I EVEN FULFIL MY ORIGINAL GOAL????
> 
> th. thamk u for reading..


End file.
